


across the horizon

by toomoon (jjjat3am)



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Character Study, Future Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/toomoon
Summary: It’s a bright and clear morning as Geonhak locks the front door to his house and walks to the bus stop. Honestly, he could just as easily afford to call a taxi or even ask someone to drive him wherever he wants, but he likes the bus. It reminds him of an earlier time when he lived at a house that the subway lines didn’t reach and he was always rushing to get to his training on time.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn
Comments: 21
Kudos: 63





	across the horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. Check ending notes for additional warnings.

It’s a bright and clear morning as Geonhak locks the front door to his house and walks to the bus stop. The neighborhood is quiet, with hardly anyone around at such an early hour on a Saturday, everyone probably still in bed recovering from a busy work week or a loud Friday night. There’s a chill in the air, warning of the impending descent into Fall, and he tucks his hands in the pockets of his jacket to warm them up.

There are a couple of birds up a tree near the bus stop and he passes time watching them as he waits for the bus to arrive, their musical chatter filling the air. He doesn’t have to wait long and it’s a relief to sit down. His knees ache in the mornings. They ache all the time, but in the mornings especially, or when the weather takes a turn for the worse. He jokes sometimes, about having his own personal weather alarm.

Geonhak sits at the window on the bus, sunshine spilling through the windows and warming him despite the air-conditioned interior. Honestly, he could just as easily afford to call a taxi or even ask someone to drive him wherever he wants, but he likes the bus. It reminds him of an earlier time when he lived at a house that the subway lines didn’t reach and he was always rushing to get to his training on time.

He spends some time looking out the window, watching the scenery change. The streets are familiar and not. A once favorite eatery is now a noraebang. A borderline seedy bar is now a nice cafe. The building where he used to get vocal lessons was torn down some time ago to make way for a new apartment building. 

The bus fills up steadily as it goes about its route, the seats taken by people, sleepy eyes barely covering their anger at having to get up to work on a Saturday. It’s almost full by the time a girl gets on, the squirrel plushie on her backpack swinging wildly back and forth. She stops at his aisle and it startles him a little, her shy voice asking if the seat next to his is taken.

Something about her, maybe her voice, or the way she looks shyly from under her bangs, triggers a half-forgotten instinct, and he smiles, reassuring and welcoming. It’s a smile he’s practiced until it was second-nature, aimed at fans across the signing table, clutching nervously at his album. 

The girl seems almost surprised for a moment, but then she smiles back and sits down. He makes sure he’s sitting closer to the window, so he doesn’t encroach on her space. Still an instinct he can’t shake, even though he’s much less bulky now.

She’s got her headphones in, and he catches a little bit of a melody. A single from one of the boy groups currently dominating the charts. He’s listened to them a little bit, had even liked it. It’s the kind of heavy hip hop he used to listen to when he was a teenager, back when his dreams didn’t come with conditionals.

The bus empties again by the time he nears his destination. It’s a tall building, nestled in a grove of trees, somewhat cut off from the busy city beyond.

It had gotten hot while he was on the bus, and he takes off his jacket, folding it over his arm as he slowly approaches the gates. The receptionist greets him with a bright smile and gives him directions he doesn’t need. He shares the elevator with an older woman, who squints at him from the corners of her eyes like she’s trying to figure out where she knows him from.

There’s art on the walls and he thinks he almost recognizes some - something about the sharp lines, the bold colors. The door he’s looking for is open and he sticks his head in, blinking at the blinding sun after the semi-dark of the hallway. The attendant smiles when she sees him.

“...and look, you’ve already got a visitor,” she says, backing away from the bed.

Youngjo squints at him for a second, and then he smiles. It’s the same sort of heart-stopping smile that used to make girls fall all over themselves when he walked by or stood up on stage, or posed for a picture. His whole face lights up, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Geonhakkie!” he says. “You came!”

“Of course, hyung,” Geonhak says softly, stepping into the room, not immune to the effects of that smile. It falls off Youngjo’s face in the next moment, replaced by panic as he lurches halfway off his bed.

“Do we have schedules today? Are we already late? Did someone wake up Hwanwoong?” Youngjo asks, rapid-fire and Geonhak rushes across the room to placate him.

“No, hyung,” he says softly. “No schedules today. We’ve got a free day.”

Youngjo relaxes back into the pillows, his smile reappearing. “A free day, huh?” he says. “I like those the best.”

He shifts a little on the bed, an unspoken invitation that Geonhak takes, kicking off his shoes and climbing on, sitting next to Youngjo on the blankets as he settles in to tell him about his week. Over time, Youngjo’s hand naturally comes up to grasp his, fingers interlocking as he occasionally brushes his thumb across the skin on the back of Geonhak’s hand.

Another attendant bustles in, offering them tea and coffee and Youngjo startles, dropping Geonhak’s hand and quickly putting some distance between them. Geonhak reaches out, deliberately clasping his hand and bringing it over to rest on his lap, closing the distance between their bodies so that Youngjo is leaning into his side.

Youngjo’s got a look on his face, something panicked and scared, rooted so deeply in a specific sort of fear that it threatens to break Geonhak’s heart.

“She’ll see!” Youngjo hisses under his breath as the woman cheerfully pours out some cups of tea.

“It’s okay,” Geonhak says, as soothing as he can, the kind of tone he would have once used with little kids or with Dongju before a particularly important performance. “It’s okay if she sees.”

Youngjo seems uncertain, looking down at their clasped hands and back at Geonhak. “What if she tells our manager?” he asks, voice pitched low. Geonhak smiles back, aiming for reassuring but knowing that it comes out wobbly.

“Our manager already knows,” he tells Youngjo. “He’s not angry at us.”

“Oh,” Youngjo says, frowning slightly. “And the company?”

“They’re okay with it.”

“Oh,” Youngjo repeats. He looks again at their tangled hands and something like wonder starts creeping in alongside the leftover vestiges fear in his expression. “The...the members?”

“They know,” Geonhak says, smiling genuinely now. “They’re very happy for us.”

“Oh,” Youngjo says, and the smile that spills across his face is full of such bone-aching relief that it makes Geonhak’s chest feel tight. “Did Keonhee cry?”

Geonhak laughs. “Keonhee cried really hard,” he confirms and it makes Youngjo laugh.

“I must have forgotten,” Youngjo says, suddenly sobering up. His gaze goes faraway, distant, as he stares at something out the window, and Geonhak has to squeeze his hand to get his attention. 

“It’s okay,” Geonhak tells him, as brightly as he’s able, “I can remember for the both of us.” 

And Youngjo smiles back, a little uncertain, but willing to trust Geonhak at his word. It only takes a little bit of coaxing to get him out of bed and onto his feet, and then Geonhak helps him get dressed. 

The shirt Youngjo chooses from his closet is one he’s customized himself, with embroidered roses on the hems and collar and patches across the back. He stops at the full-length mirror, looking at his reflection. He pouts his lips and tilts his head in one direction and then in the other, and it takes Geonhak a moment to recognize the motion, as Youngjo puts his hand up in a peace sign. It makes him laugh.

“What?” Youngjo says, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as his eyes meet Geonhak’s in the mirror. “I look good, don’t I?”

“You do,” Geonhak confirms, and he can’t quite stop himself from drifting closer. He wants to touch him, but at the moment, such a strange throwback to when they were much younger, he doesn’t quite know how, his aborted gesture landing on Youngjo’s lapels to straighten them even though they don’t need straightening.

Youngjo’s expression turns mischievous, as he reaches out to still Geonhak’s hand on his chest. “If everyone knows, then does that mean I can do other things too?” he asks.

And then he’s leaning forward, faster than Geonhak thought him capable of, to place a soft kiss at the corner of Geonhak’s mouth. Geonhak gapes at him, and Youngjo’s smile widens.

Like this, he can see the way Youngjo looks at him. It’s the way he’s always looked at him, in the quiet, private moments - an expression so openly and perfectly fond that Geonhak could never quite bring himself to meet his eyes. He looks at him now though, captures his gaze and holds it, even though it makes his whole face burn.

“You’re blushing,” Youngjo says, reaching out to touch his earlobe. He sounds pleased. 

They go out for a walk and Geonhak loops his arm around Youngjo’s to steady him. Youngjo’s cane makes soft tapping sounds against the tile floor. They don’t go far. Youngjo’s back isn’t in the best condition and Geonhak’s knees have both seen multiple surgeries. They settle down on a bench under some trees. It’s warm but there’s a breeze, and it’s nice in the shade of the willow trees. Youngjo seems unwilling to let go of his hand, even when the delivery person brings them their chicken and tteokbokki.

They eat it like that, on the park bench, and Geonhak knows he’ll have to apologize to the attendants later for making Youngjo miss his lunch and messing up his diet. He can’t quite bring himself to regret it though, not when Youngjo’s insisting that Geonhak open his mouth so he can feed him a rice cake. His hands shake a little, but that’s okay.

Geonhak throws away their trash after they finish, and they linger on the park bench, talking for a while. Youngjo gets immersed in talking about a song he’s working on. Geonhak estimates that it’s the same song that had gone on to be their ninth single. Youngjo’s having trouble with the bridge and Geonhak is tempted to just tell him how he worked it out in the end, but it’s nicer to listen to him come up with different variations, humming to himself and coming up with turns of phrase to fit the melody, his soft voice carried away by the wind.

As the sun gets dangerously close to the horizon, Geonhak heaves himself to his feet, pulling Youngjo up after him. They wobble for a moment, but their hands find each other and hold, and they’re alright. They make their slow way out of the woods and into the building, past a different brightly smiling receptionist, and through the shadowed hallways.

Geonhak keeps catching their reflection in the windows, silhouettes in the late afternoon sunshine, and they look like they could be different people. Younger people. On their way to a late variety show taping, or maybe just out on a date.

They arrive back to Youngjo’s room and Geonhak helps him change back into his pajamas. He sits with him as Youngjo eats his dinner, waving away Youngjo’s increasingly frantic attempts to at least let him share the pudding. 

Youngjo looks small against the sheer white bedding, and he seems unwilling to let go of Geonhak’s hand. The pinks of the early sunset deepen the shadows on his face.

“Geonhak,” he says, softly, almost pleading. “When are we going to go home?”

And Geonhak smiles at him, blinking away the tears from his eyes and does something he promised he’d never do - he lies. “Soon, hyung,” he says. “Really soon.”

Youngjo smiles, but there’s an edge of sadness to it. “Will you stay here?” he asks. “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Geonhak says and Youngjo brings their joined hands up to press them against his cheek. The excitement of the day is catching up to him, his eyes slowly drifting shut, his grip slackening. Geonhak waits until his breathing evens out to even start untangling their fingers.

But Youngjo isn’t as deeply asleep as he though, and his eyes blink open at the movement. He squints at Geonhak for a moment, before his face brightens in a smile.

The same smile that used to make Geonhak’s heart stop, across crowded rooms and crowded stages.

“Geonhakkie!” Youngjo says brightly. “You came!”

“Yes, I came,” Geonhak says, voice hitching, as Youngjo’s face contorts into a panic.

“Do we have schedules today? Are we already late?” he asks, as Geonhak presses him gently back into the pillows.

“No, hyung,” Geonhak says, as gently as he knows. “We don’t have any schedules. It’s time to rest now. It’s okay. You can rest.”

Youngjo goes willingly enough into the pillows, and Geonhak reaches out to brush his grey hair out of his face. He seems to calm at the touch so Geonhak keeps at it, stroking his cheek until Youngjo’s eyes flutter shut and his breathing is calm and even. 

Geonhak sits there for a little while, in the darkened room, listening to Youngjo breathe. If a stray tear falls from his cheek and into the folds of the sheets, then there’s no one else to see.

Outside in the now neon-lit hallway, an attendant smiles at him. 

“You know, you’re the only one he remembers so clearly,” she says. “You must have made an impression.

And for a moment, Geonhak is hit with the memory of looking at the world from beneath a long blonde fringe and meeting a brown-haired boy for the first time, not knowing then that he was looking at someone who would change his life forever.

“He made an impression on me too,” he tells her.

Outside, it’s a warm summer night. The sun is just barely sinking beyond the horizon, streetlights winking into existence alongside the road. There’s a gentle breeze, bringing in the scent of honeysuckle.

There’s a car parked at the curb, and a man is leaning against it. Dongju, the bastard, hasn’t aged a day since he turned fifty. His manners are the same as when he was twenty though.

“Ya, hyung, come on,” he yells across the parking lot, “you’re so slow.”

Geonhak rolls his eyes. “I could find my own way home, you know,” he points out. “You don’t have to pick me up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dongju says. “I was just in the neighborhood when I saw you standing on the street, all forlorn.”

This statement is absurd on several levels, not in the least because this area of the city is totally outside of Dongju’s usual commute. Dongju opens the car door and Geonhak slides in, startling when a cup of green tea ice cream is thrust in his arms.

“You should eat it before it melts,” Dongmyeong tells him solemnly, even though the ice cream is half liquid already.

“I don’t like ice cream,” Geonhak tells him, exasperated.

“Nope, you didn’t like ice cream back when you were working out,” Dongmyeong says, matter-of-factly, “and now that you’re not working out, you like ice cream. It’s obvious.”

“It’s not obvious, Dongmyeong, you idiot,” Dongju says as the car rolls away from the curb. 

Geonhak lets the twins’ bickering fade in the background, turning around in his seat so he can watch the shadowed windows of the building fall away. He’ll be back next Saturday. And the one after that, and like that, for the rest of the days either of them have left.

After all, they’ve got nothing but time.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic features a character with Alzheimer's disease and I guess some descriptions of growing old. 
> 
> I don't know what else to say. Hold on to the people that you love. And if you can, stream To Be Or Not To Be, and lets make some new memories together.


End file.
